AUTUMN AVENUE

Autumn Avenue
PM# 1206032

I face a wide avenue, palm trees

on the boulevard stretching far

into the distance, opening the

imagination and imprinting a song

or two in the eardrums.

The austral winter sun beats down

on my forehead with just as

much strength and sweat forms

in every orifice. The chilly, but

dry wind has seared my nostrils

and tightened my chest yet I

move along, my shoes scuffling

up dust with every step. Holiday 

cabins line the avenue,

all are empty now, ready for the

weekend as tourists still flock to

enjoy the down by the river

experience, barbeques, picnics, lots

of beer and wine,

dancing into the night and waking

up with absolutely nothing to do.

I walk on, desperately thirsty, but

nothing is open, closed until friday,

I finally reach a kiosco that has

some signs of life, a skin and bones

dog lies in the doorway, flies buzzing

around it, occasionally a flick of the

tail is the only evidence the dog is

alive. I gingerly step over the

mutt and he doesn't even open his

eyes to acknowledge me.

The shop is cool and I opt for a 

giant bottle of Pepsi, a bottle from

the fridge is more expensive but this

is no time to worry about money.

I retire under a nearby tree, the

first sip of soda nearly causes

my entire head to explode but I move

on, opening my book I pass into

history, the oblivion of the Falklands

War, sitting in the territory that 

started it and wondering how they

let things slide so badly since then,

but that is for another day.

Let the sun pass over my head

and the night brings on a peace

that exists in no other part of

the world,

that I've visited anyway.

Let the clouds roll over our head

as they reach down to

sweetly caress your brow,

as if trying to extract the very

root of the pain from your soul.

Attach your strings to the

south winds that blow continuously over

the fertile Pampas and knock over the

Pepsi bottle as I sleep.

Michael Crane